By the time the sun was setting, Felicity was in bed with Dom, wearing the lacy bra and panty set he’d bought her for Valentine’s Day, because he would have liked that. He’d be looking down from heaven at his corpse, in bed with a sexy woman, and thinking, Still got it.
She told him about her sleepless night on the couch, the discovery of the wine bottle upstairs, the argument about who would hike down the mountain—and her anger at the group for caring about their reputations while Dom was going cold. Then she confessed to the things that happened before he died. She told him about that moment in the backyard with Oscar. The terrible mistake she’d made. How badly she’d wanted to fix it.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered in his ear. Her guilt was like a borehole: whenever she thought no tears were left, she dug a little deeper, and they gushed up again.
When she blinked them away, she saw that Dom was smiling.
She flinched, startled. But it was just his facial muscles stiffening in the hours after death. It would pass all too soon.
She knew about rigor mortis, lividity, decomposition bloat. As a kid, she’d been fascinated with dead bodies. She remembered asking her parents, over and over, ‘But what makes them dead?’ and never being satisfied with the answer. Some people had stopped breathing but could still be revived, and others came back after hours without a heartbeat; people with no brain activity could live for years on a ventilator. When she was ten, she feigned an illness just so she could ask her GP the question. He’d said the main difference between the living and the dead was that living people didn’t decompose. But Felicity had met old people who were withered, saggy, rotten. They’d looked far more decomposed than her husband did right now.
‘Please wake up,’ she said.
Dom didn’t move.
She ran her hand down his body. It wasn’t just his facial muscles—everything was hard. She had read about that, too; they called it angel lust. But soon it would be over, forever. She found herself wondering which would be worse: missing one last chance to be with her husband, or taking it.
Felicity was saved from this line of thinking by a crashing noise outside. She kissed Dom on the cheek, then walked out to the back deck. She welcomed the freezing rain on her bare skin. She didn’t deserve to feel good ever again.
She peered over the edge of the deck. There was no one out here. Just trees, ferns and mud.
There was an axe next to a woodpile, and a battered mountain bike lay sideways on the gravel.
The front door clicked and creaked.
Felicity went back inside. ‘Hello?’
Clementine’s voice rang out: ‘Isla? Felicity?’
Felicity rounded the corner and saw Clementine in the hallway, dripping and shivering.
‘What’s going on out there?’ Felicity asked.
‘What’s going on in here?’ Clementine asked, her eyes widening at Felicity’s underwear.
She crossed her arms. ‘None of your business.’
‘Is Isla back?’ Clementine demanded.
‘No. I thought you were all going down to the highway. Why would she be back? Why are you back?’
‘That pile of rubbish is a camp site,’ Clementine said. ‘Someone else has been out here with us the whole time.’
Felicity’s blood ran cold. ‘Holy shit.’ She pictured the heap of garbage. She could visualise a tent behind it, but wouldn’t want to meet the kind of person who would live there.
‘We came to warn you,’ Clementine said. ‘But Isla’s missing.’
‘Who’s we?’
‘Me and—’ Clementine turned to face the empty doorway. The colour drained from her face. ‘Cole?’ she shouted.
The only sound was the pounding rain.
‘I took a few wrong turns, but I’m sure he was with me,’ she whispered. ‘Oh Jesus. Cole.’
She tried to go back outside, but Felicity grabbed her arm. ‘Don’t.’
‘My husband is out there!’ Clementine cried.
Felicity felt for her. She sometimes found it difficult to imagine other people’s pain, but in this case, she didn’t have to imagine it—her own husband had been missing, just last night.
She’d always been good at strategising. No matter how bad things got, she could quickly make a plan. ‘Be smart,’ she told Clementine. ‘If Cole was right behind you, and now he isn’t, there’s a reason for that. Whoever’s out there will expect you to come running, calling out for him.’
‘I can’t just leave him,’ Clementine snapped.
Felicity opened her mouth to explain the rest of her plan—and then Cole barged in. Like Clementine, he was wet and looked exhausted, his breaths ragged, his cheeks bright red. He also stank, and a dark stain covered one shoe.
Clementine threw her arms around his neck. ‘Thank God!’
‘It’s okay, darling. I’m here.’ Cole kissed the top of her head.
‘I thought I’d lost you.’
‘I might have done something to my ankle when I stepped in that hole. I couldn’t keep up with you.’ Cole looked over Clementine’s shoulder at Felicity. ‘Are Isla and Oscar okay?’
‘They’re not here,’ Felicity said. ‘It’s just been me and Dom.’
Cole noticed the lingerie. He looked at her with a mixture of horror, pity and disgust.
‘It’s not like that,’ Felicity snapped, though it nearly had been. ‘You’re telling me you lost Oscar and Isla?’
‘Oscar must be back,’ Cole said. ‘The bike from the camp site is right behind the house. Someone must have ridden it up the driveway.’
They looked at each other, eyes widening.
‘We have to search the house,’ Clementine murmured.
‘No one’s here,’ Felicity said. ‘I would have heard them come in.’
‘We have to be sure.’
Cole locked the front door, then they searched the living area, the kitchen, the laundry, the upstairs bedroom, the ensuite and the downstairs bathroom. They locked all the windows after clearing each room. They found no one, as Felicity had known they would.
They left her room until last—Clementine and Cole seemed reluctant to go in.
‘I’ll search this room.’ Felicity didn’t want them to see Dom’s corpse in its current state.
‘We should stay together,’ Cole said again.
‘It’s okay. If anyone’s in there, I’ll scream.’
Cole and Clementine nodded.
Felicity entered the room. She checked behind the curtains, in the closet and under the bed: no axe murderer. Dom hadn’t moved, but he’d gone soft. She’d missed her chance.
Felicity kissed his forehead, then walked back out. ‘Clear.’
The others looked relieved.
‘So, what are we thinking?’ Cole asked. ‘The camper rode the bike up the hill and dumped it but didn’t even try the front door …?’
‘Maybe they’re lying in wait nearby,’ Felicity said.
‘Waiting for what?’ Cole asked.
Someone pounded on the door, and they all jumped.
‘Probably Jehovah’s Witnesses,’ Felicity whispered. She couldn’t help it: the more tension in the air, the greater the urge to break it with a joke.
‘What do we do?’ Cole demanded.
‘If we ignore it, they might break a window,’ Clementine said.
A scream from outside: ‘Let me in!’
Even in these circumstances, hearing Oscar’s voice made Felicity’s guts twist with revulsion. ‘I’m going to put some clothes on,’ she said, and escaped into her bedroom.